Ship Who Searched (33 page)

And with that, she put him on “record” and let him splutter into a datahedron while she turned her attention to Alex.

He had a wad of tissues at his face, trying to staunch the blood from nose and lip, and his eyes above the tissues were starting to puff and turn dark. He was going to look like a raccoon before too long, with a double set of black eyes.

Obviously the first thing that had impacted with the couch was his face.

“Alex?” she said timidly. “Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—there wasn’t time—”

“Ith awright,” he replied thickly. “You di okay. Din hab mush shoice. Hanneled ev’thing great, hanneled him great. You arn gon moof for wile?”

She correctly interpreted that as praise for her handling of the situation and a query as to whether or not she planned on moving.

“No, I don’t
plan
on it,” she replied, dryly. “But I hadn’t
planned
on any of this in the first place.”

He simply grunted, pried himself up painfully out of the acceleration couch and headed for their tiny sickbay to patch himself up.

She sent in a servo, discreetly, to clean up the blood in the sickbay and a second to take care of the mess in the main cabin, thanking her lucky stars that it
hadn’t
been worse. If Alex had been standing when she pulled that spin and acceleration instead of heading in the direction of the couch—

She didn’t want to think about it. Instead, she ordered the kitchen to make iced gel-packs. Lots of them. And something soft for dinner.

They left as soon as the CS contingent arrived and spent a little time debriefing them. The CS folk showed up in a much fuller force than even Tia had expected. Not only Central Systems Medical and Administrative personnel—but a CenSec Military brainship, the CP-One-Oh-Four-One. Bristling with weaponry—

And with the latest and greatest version of the Singularity Drive, no doubt, she thought, a little bitterly. Heaven only knows what their version can do. Bring its own Singularity point with it, maybe.

Whatever the administrators of Presley Station had
thought
they were going to get away with, they were soon dissuaded. The first person off the CenSec ship was a Sector Vice-Admiral; right behind him was an armed escort. He proclaimed the station to be under martial law, marched straight into the station manager’s office, and within moments had the entire station swiftly and efficiently secured.

Tia had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. Within the hour all the witnesses and guilty parties had been taken into military custody, and Tia confidently expected someone to call them and take their depositions at any time.

Alex still looked like someone had been interrogating him with rubber hoses, so when the brainship hailed them, she took the call, and let him continue nursing his aching head and bruises.

The ship-number was awfully close to hers, although the military might not use standard CS brainship nomenclature. Still. . . .
One-Oh-Four-One. That’s close enough for the brain to have been in my class
—

“Tia, that is you, isn’t it?” were the first words over the comlink. The “voice”—along with the sharp overtones and aggressive punch behind them—was very familiar.

“Pol?” she replied, wondering wildly what the odds were on
this
little meeting.

“In the shell and ready to kick some tail!” Pol responded cheerfully. “How the heck are you? Heard you had some trouble out here, and the Higher Ups said ‘go,’ so we came a-running.”

“Trouble—you could say so.” She sent him over her records of the short—but hair-raising, at least by her standards—flight, in a quick burst. He scanned them just as quickly, and sent a wordless blip of color and sound conveying mingled admiration and surprise. If he had been a softie, he would have whistled.

“Not bad flying, if I do say so myself!” he said. “Like the way you cut right under that tug—maybe you should have opted for CenSec or Military.”

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “That was more than enough excitement for the next decade for me.”

“Suit yourself.” Pol laughed, as if he didn’t believe her. “My brawn wants to talk to your brawn. It’s debriefing time.”

She called Alex, who had been flat on his back in his bunk with an ice-gel pack on his black eyes. He staggered out to his chair and plopped down into it. For once, she thought, no one was going to notice his rumpled uniform—not with the black-blue-purple and green glory of his bruised face staring out of a screen.

“Line’s open,” she told Pol, activating the visual circuit.

As she had half-expected, given her impressions of the candidates when she had been picking a brawn, it was Chria Chance who stared out of the screen, with surprise written all over her handsome features. She was still wearing her leather uniforms, Tia noticed—which argued powerfully for “Chria” being High Family. Little eccentricities like custom-tailored uniforms could be overlooked in someone who was both a High Family scion and had an excellent record of performance. Tia had no doubt that Chria’s record was outstanding.

Tia noted also one difference between the Courier Service ships and the CenSec Couriers besides the armament. Directly behind Chria was another console and another comchair; this one held a thin, sharp-featured man in a uniform identical to Chria’s, with an ornamental leather band or choker circling his long throat. He looked just as barbaric as she did. More, actually. He had the rangy, take-no-prisoners look of someone from one of the outer systems.

In short, he and Chria probably got along as if they had been made for each other.

“Frigging novas!” Chria exclaimed, after the first few seconds of staring. “Alex, what in blazes happened to
you
? Your dispatches never said anything about—did they—”

“Nobody worked me over, Brunhilde,” Alex said tiredly, but with a hint of his customary humor. “So don’t get your tights in a knot. This is all my own fault—or maybe just the fault of bad timing. It’s the result of my face hitting my chair at—what was that acceleration, Tia?”

“About two gees,” she said apologetically.

Chria shook her head in disbelief. “Huh. Well, shoot—here I was getting all ready to go on-station and dent some heads to teach these perps some manners.” She sat back in her chair and grinned at him. “Sorry about that, flyboy. Next time, strap in.”

“Next time, maybe I’ll have some warning,” he replied. “Those clowns tried to ’jack us with no advance notice. New regs should require at least twenty-four hours warning before a hijacking. And forms filed in quad.”

Chria laughed. “Right. You two have been making my people very happy, did you know that? Their nickname for you is ‘Bird-dog,’ because you’ve been flushing so much game out for us.”

“No doubt.” Alex copied her stance, except that where she steepled her hands in front of her chin, he rubbed his temple. “Do I assume that this is not a social call? As in, ‘debriefing time’?”

“Oh, yes and no.” She shrugged, but her eyes gleamed. “We don’t really need to debrief you, but there’s a couple of orders I have to pass. First of all, I’ve been ordered to tell you that if you’ve figured out where your rock-rat’s treasure trove is, transmit the coordinates to us so we know where you’re going, but get on out there as soon as you can move your tail. We’ll send a follow-up, but right now we’ve got some high-level butts to bust here.”

“Generous of you,” Alex said dryly. “Letting us go in first and catch whatever flack is waiting. Are we still a ‘bird-dog,’ or have we been elevated to ‘self-propelled trouble magnet’?”

Chria only laughed.

“Come on, flyboy, get with the team. There’s still a Plague-spot out there, and you’re the ones most likely to find it; we don’t know what in Tophet we’re looking for.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he nodded in grudging agreement. “Then when you find it,
you
know how to handle it. I kind of gather that your people want the plague stopped, but they also want their statues and what-all kept safe, too. What’re Neil and I going to do, shoot the bug down? He’s hot on the trigger, but he’s not up to potting microbes just yet!”

Behind her, the sharp-faced man shrugged in self-deprecation and grinned.

“So, if you’ve got a probable, let us know so we can keep an eye on you. Otherwise—” she spread her hands “—there’s nothing we need you for. Fly free, little birds—the records you so thoughtfully bounced all over the sector are all we need to convict these perps, wrap them up, and stick them where they have to pump in daylight.”

“Here’s what we have,” Tia said before Alex could respond. She sent Pol duplicates of their best guesses. “As you can see, we have narrowed it down to three really good prospects. Only one of those has a record of sentient ruins, so that’s the one we think is the most likely—I wish they’d logged something besides just ‘presence of structures,’ but there it is.”

“Survey,” Pol said succinctly. “Get lots of burnout cases in Survey. Well, what can you expect, going planet-hopping for months on end, dropping satellites, with nothing but an AI to keep you company? Sometimes surprised they don’t go buggy, all things considered. I would.”

Pol seemed much more convivial than Tia recalled him ever being, and completely happy with
his
brawn, and Chria had that relaxed look of a brawn with the perfect partner. But still—Chria had been an odd one, and Military and Central Security didn’t let their brainships swap brawns without overwhelming reasons.
Was
Pol happy?

“
Pol,
” Tia sent only to him, “
did you get a good one?
”

Pol laughed, replying the same way. “The best! I wouldn’t trade off Chria or Neil for any combo in the Service. We three-up over here, you know—it’s a double-brawn and brain setup; it’s a fail-safe because we’re armed. Chria’s the senior officer, and Neil’s the gunnery-mate, but Neil’s been studying, and now he can double her on anything. Fully qualified. That’s not usually the case, from what I hear.”

“Why didn’t he get his own brainship, then?” she asked, puzzled. “If he’s fully qualified, shouldn’t he get a promotion?”

“Who can figure softies?” Pol said dismissively. “He and Chria share her cabin. Maybe it’s hormonal. How about you—you were saying you planned to be pretty picky about your brawns. Did they rush you, or did you get a good one?”

There were a hundred things she could have said—many of which could have gotten her in a world of trouble if she answered as enthusiastically as she would have liked. “
Oh, Alex will do—when he’s not shoving his face into chairs,
” she replied as lightly as she could. Pol laughed and made a few softie jokes while Alex and Chria tied up all the loose ends that needed to be dealt with.

They were the only ship permitted to leave Presley space—Chria hadn’t been joking when she’d said that there was going to be a thorough examination of everything going on out here. On the other hand, not having to contend with other traffic was rather nice, all things considered.

Now if only they had a Singularity Drive. . . .

Never mind, she told herself, as she accelerated to hyper. I can manage without it. I just hope we don’t have any more “help” from the opposition.

This place didn’t even have a name yet—just a chart designation. Epsilon Delta 177.3.3. Pol had called it right on the nose—whoever had charted this place must have been a burnout case, or he would have at least tried to name it. That was one of the few perks of a Survey mission; most people took advantage of it.

It certainly had all the earmarks of the kind of place they were looking for; eccentric tilt, heavy cloud cover that spoke of rain or snow or both. But as Tia decelerated into the inner system, she suddenly knew that they
had
hit paydirt without ever coming close enough to do a surface scan.

There should have been a Survey satellite in orbit around their hot little prospect. This was a Terra-type planet; even with an eccentric tilt, eventually someone was going to want to claim it. The satellite should have been up there collecting data on planet three, on the entire system, and on random comings and goings within the system, if any. It should have been broadcasting warnings to incoming ships about the system’s status—charted but unexplored, under bio-quarantine until checked out, possibly dangerous, native sentients unknown, landing prohibited.

The satellite was either missing or silent.

“Accidents do happen,” Alex said cautiously, as Tia came in closer, decelerating steadily, and prepared to make orbit. “Sometimes those babies break.”

She made a sound of disbelief. “Not often. And what are the odds? It should at
least
be giving us the navigational bleep, and there’s nothing, nothing at all.” She scanned for the satellite as she picked her orbital path, hoping to pick something up.

“Oh, Tia—look at that rotation, that orbit! It could have gotten knocked out of the sky by something—” he began.

“Could have, but wasn’t. I’ve got it, Alex,” she said with glee. “I found it! And it’s deader than a burned-out glow-tube.”

She matched orbits with the errant satellite, coming alongside for a closer look. It was about half her size, so there was no question of bringing it inside, but as she circled it like a curious fish, there was one thing quite obvious.

Nothing was externally wrong with it.

“No sign of collision, and it wasn’t shot at,” Alex observed, and sighed. “No signs of a fire or explosion inside, either. You’ve tried reactivating it, I suppose?”

“It’s not answering,” she said firmly. “Guess what? You get to take a walk.”

He muttered something under his breath and went after his pressure-suit. After the past few days in transition, his face had begun to heal, turning from black, blue and purple to a kind of dirty green and yellow. She presumed that the rest of him was in about the same shape—but he was obviously feeling rather sorry for himself.

Do I snap at him, or do I kind of tease him along?
she wondered. He hadn’t been in a particularly good mood since the call from Chria. Was it that he was still in pain? Or was it something else entirely? There were so many signals of softperson body language that she’d never had a chance to learn, but there had been something going on during that interview—not precisely between Alex and Chria, though. More like, going on
with
Alex,
because
of Chria.